The Many Faces of Tully

Calchas breaks up our party around three in the morning. We all grumble but listen to him. Everyone heads to their rooms except for me. I stay back and start to pick up the mess we made. I need something to keep me occupied.

I’m really starting to feel the effect of not sleeping for three days now. I’m stumbling everywhere and it’s not all because of the booze. My eyes droop heavily and my muscles are starting to feel numb. All I want to do is pass out, but I’m too afraid to.

I finished cleaning up just before four. I sit in the kitchen and put my chin down on the table. I place a ping pong ball in front of me and smack it back and forth between my hands. I just watch it slide across the table with a frown on my face.

I hear the coffee start to brew and I know it’s four now. I don’t get a mug but I breathe deeply, smelling it and willing it to fill me up with more energy to stay awake today. I’m not sure if I can, but I will try my hardest. Sleep will not be a good thing for me.

Twenty minutes later the door swings open. I hear his footsteps falter as he sees me.

“Good morning Tully. I didn’t expect to see you in here already. Did the party last night keep you up too?” He walks behind me to get himself a mug of coffee.

“You can say that,” I slur. I’m still drunk. Way too drunk and sleep deprived. My thoughts are fuzzy.

“Wait.” He starts laughing. “Don’t tell me you were a part of it?” He laughs again.

“Actually, I was the life of it,” I say defensively. I leave my head on the table. I can’t move it. It’s too heavy.

“No kidding?” he says, still laughing.

“Why does everyone think it’s so weird for me to drink?” I ask the table.

“It just doesn’t seem like you. You seem too serious or something. Too mature. Women do mature faster than men.” He puts his mug on the table and then turns to get himself something to eat. “Are you hungry? Hung-over? Do you need Tylenol or something?” I hear him ask me.

Sleep. I think to myself. “I’m not hung-over. I’m still drunk. I’m starving, and no Tylenol please.” The words jumble in my mouth but I think he understood me because he starts laughing again.

“Want a waffle sandwich?” he asks me. I flinch. No, I don’t want one. I shake my head. “All right then. What do you want? I’m not sure if you can eat cereal in the state you’re in,” he teases me.

“Toast. Buttered toast,” I say. I hear him chuckle slightly as he digs out the bread.

“So what kind of drunk are you? Happy, angry, talkative, or the crying type?” he asks me. He sets a mug of coffee in front of my face. I just stare at it.

“I’m a fun one,” I grumble.

“I’ll have to ask the guys to confirm that, whenever they get up.” He chuckles again. I hear my toast pop up and I hear the knife scraping across it as he butters it. “Why aren’t you sleeping by the way?” He places the toast right next to my mug of coffee.

“Not tired,” I lie. He comes into view as he sits across from me with a waffle sandwich.

He picks it up to take a bite but then he really looks at me. I must look miserable because he pauses with his mouth open and the sandwich halfway to it.

“Jesus Christ, Tully!” he exclaims.

I look up at him blearily. I need to make myself look more awake or he’s going to make me sleep. I don’t want to. I use my arms to help me sit up in my chair. I pull my coffee towards me and I sip out of it.

“How much did you drink last night?” He’s gaping at me.

“Enough,” I say defensively. I pick up a piece of toast and take a bite out of it. I almost bite my tongue in the process.

“Do you always get like this when you drink?” He’s still staring at me. I must look horrible.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I mumble. I try to make my lips work better, but it doesn’t work. I drink some more coffee. I need to wake up and sober up.

“Well, not to be rude or anything, but you look like you were hit by a truck.” He finally takes a bite of his waffle sandwich.

“Thanks. To be honest though, I kind of feel that way.” I eat more toast. It tastes really good. I start shoving more into my mouth.

“Why don’t you go lie down then? You look like you could use a good nap,” he tells me. I don’t answer him. My mouth is too full to answer him anyways.

“Did you put something else on this toast? It tastes really good,” I say to him. I grab my mug and down some coffee. I’m starting to wake up just slightly. I need a shower. I smell like alcohol.

“No. I didn’t. I assume it’s the alcohol coursing through your veins that’s making it taste so good. Don’t change the subject,” he scolds me.

“What subject again? I think you’re right, because this coffee tastes amazing too.” My mouth is forming the words better and my vision is getting sharper. Thank goodness for coffee and my strong will. I will not be told to go to bed.

“You, sleeping,” he states.

“I’m not sleeping? I’m sitting right here, eating breakfast with you.” I’m waking up but my thoughts are still scrambled.

“That’s my point,” he says. His tone is slightly angry.

“Well, my point is that I reek of alcohol, so I’m going to shower. I desperately need it. Thanks for making me breakfast.” I down my coffee and grab my other piece of toast. I start to walk out the door.

“Tully,” Jace says, but I ignore him. I eat my toast and hurry to my room.

I hop into the shower and make the water alternate from hot to cold. It wakes me up some more and sobers me up slightly.